


The Anniversary

by PollyPocket18



Series: The Downfall [4]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Male-Female Friendship, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 12:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17867354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PollyPocket18/pseuds/PollyPocket18
Summary: They skated for hours, their legs burning as they slipped between familiar moves and simple strides. The music skipped from "Come What May" to "Mahler" to "Prince" to "Latch" to "Long Time Running," his playlist perfectly curated to recall all of their moments on the ice. It was bittersweet, but the sweet outweighed the bitter as "Latch" came on for a second time. "Let's do it," He husked out, running through some of the old choreography. As they ended, he fell into her arms, reveling in the feeling of her hands in his hair.She held him to her chest, feeling the quiver in his body as he buried his face into her chest. It took a moment before she realized he was crying. "Latch" had always been hard for him, but now he was in her arms, sobbing against her chest.





	The Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has read this series, left comments, left kudos, etc.
> 
> I originally had intended only a one-shot, but here we are at Part 4.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you to my beta readers, who assured me this all made sense, and was okay to post.

February 19 - Toronto, Ontario

He stood outside the small restaurant, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his jacket as he waited for her to arrive. He'd be in Toronto for an interview with the Maple Leafs and she had decided to pass through on her way back to London, so it would only make sense for them to meet up for lunch. They'd both be home tomorrow, and had agreed to hit the ice together in celebration of the one year anniversary of their Olympic win, but it had been a long time - too long - since they just had lunch together, as friends.

He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, but he ignored it, breathing in the cool Canada air. God, he had missed this country. He tugged uncomfortably at his sweater, suddenly embarrassed at how snug it had become since he last wore it. He knew he had let himself go. Too much beer, too many burgers, and too little exercise.

His eyes settled on the familiar silhouette climbing out of the cab before him, her dark hair pulled back into a slick ponytail and a long black coat hanging off her slim frame. She wore a pair of black heels and a nearly sheer shirt covered in gold polka dots. She had certainly NOT let herself go since he had last seen her at the tour photo shoot last month.

That photo-shoot had been torture for him, watching her slither around in sexy outfits, her so-called "Sportswear" dipping to her belly button, the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra far from lost on him. He had acted disinterest to ward off the tightness in his jeans and the constant texts from his girlfriend.

"T, hey..." He smiled as she approached, taking in the way her face lit up at the sight of him, her arms immediately encircling his shoulders to pull him to her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the distinct scent of strawberries and vanilla that was Tessa Virtue. He hadn't even realized he missed it until now.

She pulled him tighter, noticing the way the tension left his body as he clung to her, his breath slowing against her neck. Instinctively her eyes closed, their heartbeats and breaths syncing like they had before every competition for the last ten or so years. "I've missed you." She let out softly, somewhat shyly. Their last meeting had been very business-minded, taking photos for the tour with an audience of onlookers. He had been somewhat aloof, making jokes to cover whatever was causing the dullness behind his usually bright eyes. She had tried to pull him aside to talk afterwards, but he had begged off, telling her he was in a rush to get to the airport. To meet _her_...his girlfriend.

She was still not over it or over him, but she was getting better at pretending. At the shoot, she had played the part of dutiful "friend" and even bordered on "bro," instead of "broken-hearted ex" or "the girl that he sometimes still chooses to cheat on his girlfriend with." She swore she wouldn't let _that_ happen again, ever, but now, here, in his arms, she wasn't so sure she could stick to it.

"How have you been?" He asked, finally pulling back from her embrace to drink her in.

Still gorgeous. Still perfect. Still Tessa. His Tessa.

"Good, busy!" She laughed as they slipped unassumingly into the restaurant, making small talk about work, vacations, upcoming tour plans.

He wanted to ask if the rumors were true.

She wanted to ask if he was still seeing her.

He missed her.

She missed him.

He ordered a salad and a water, embarrassed by the way he could feel his stomach hanging uncharacteristically over the waistband of his jeans. She probably found him repulsive. He spent most of his days in Florida lounging around in T-shirts and basketball shorts that he had barely realized how tight his clothes had gotten.

"Can you believe tomorrow is a year?" She asked, lifting her eyes from her plate to his.

"It's crazy," He smiled. "In some ways, it feels like yesterday and in some ways, it feels like a lifetime ago."

"I can't wait to skate tomorrow," She admitted. "I've done a few commercials and stuff on the ice, but it's not the same, ya know? I wasn't meant to be a singles skater."

"Me neither," He chuckled. "I probably would've quit at ten if it wasn't for you." He shook his head. "I haven't been on skates in months, I miss it." He shrugged, gesturing to his body. "I'm a bit out of shape, not sure I'll be able to keep up with you Virtch."

"Yeah right," She laughed, eyeing him. "I've spent the last 21 years trying to keep up with you, I'm sure you'll be just fine."

They enjoyed the rest of their lunch, joking about stories of her niece Poppy and other light conversations. She told him about a night she got drunk in New York City and lost her coat (she left out a few details), and he told her about a night of tequila and tacos in Tampa that led to him passing out on the front lawn (he didn't mention _her_. He didn't need to.) He told her about skiing in Whistler with Chiddy, and how he was fairly certain their friend would be proposing soon. She talked about her new love for spin classes.

As they headed out on the anniversary of their now legendary short dance, she implored him to reenact the opening "for the sake of the 'gram." He didn't say no. He couldn't.

He knew he'd hear about it later.

She hugged him tightly, a lump forming in her throat as she thought about him getting on a train back to London. He'd probably settle in and call his girlfriend. He'd go home and see his parents. God, she missed Alma and Joe. This wasn't how things were supposed to be.

"I'll see you tomorrow," He grinned, pressing his warm lips to her cheek. "11am at the Ilderton Rink."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

 

February 20 - Ilderton, Ontario

It was 10:45am and she was supposed to meet Scott inside in fifteen minutes, and she was nervous. It was a different kind of nervous than the one that had consumed her one year ago on this very date. She thought back to February 20 of 2018, recalling the elation; they were truly on top of the world. He had pulled her into his arms, he had whispered "I love you," he had kissed her lips backstage, knowing nothing else could convey his feelings. At least until later that night when they had collapsed into her bed in the Olympic village, tearing off each other's clothes in a fit of euphoria and emotion, making love until the sun came up and they had to start interviews. They had been hoarse and exhausted, but drunk off their win and each other.

How had things changed so much in just 365 days?

Yesterday had nearly killed her. They had been them, but at the same time, they had been so distant. She wanted Scott back, her Scott. She needed him.

They needed the ice, they needed to be working and creating and holding hands. She needed his lips against her neck, her fingers in his hair as they swirled around in front of an audience, their communication perfect when they were together there.

Three years ago on February 20, they had announced their big comeback, and celebrated with champagne and a huge dinner as they plotted out their plans. They had dedicated their lives to their sport, and to each other, and everything had been so perfect.

Two years ago on February 20, they were in South Korea, celebrating a win at Four Continents, sipping champagne and toasting to this day in 2018.

One year ago today had arguably been the best day of her life. She had won her third Olympic gold medal, holding Scott's hand. They had gotten positively tipsy on champagne before falling into bed, and into a new unspoken relationship.

February 20 was that day that she knew that she would love Scott Moir forever.

And now, February 20, 2019, they were going to take the ice in Ilderton. If you had asked her a few months ago, they'd be announcing their retirement today, celebrating with champagne. Scott would be pulling her into his arms... maybe dropping to a knee...

Now she was wondering if Jackie was here in Canada. Would she be watching them skate today? Ugh, she hated this so much.

Breathing in a deep sigh to collect herself, she grabbed her skate bag from her trunk and headed into the familiar arena. As she made her way towards the ice, she noticed that the place was abandoned, Scott sitting silently on the boards. He was wearing his skates and staring off into space, two cups of Starbucks next to him.

"Hey Moir," She called through the silence, watching as he slipped from the boards and lifted a hand to wave in her direction.

"Just us?"

"I know people that gave me the keys to the place," He chuckled, lifting his baseball cap off his head to smooth down his awkwardly longish hair, before replacing the hat, turning it backwards. Was he wearing a Tampa Bay Lightning hat? She bit back the bile rising in her throat.

Once she was laced up, he passed her a coffee ("I wasn't sure what your current order is.") and they made casual small talk about their respective train rides before he set his phone down on the boards, flipping to a playlist and extending his hand. "Ready?"

The familiar strains of "Come What May" echoed through the empty arena, as they skated hand-in-hand around the ice, reacquainting themselves to the feel of the slick surface beneath their blades, their hands entwined.

"Finally got new skates, eh?" He asked, gesturing towards her feet.

"It was time to let go," She smiled sadly as the music swelled around them. How many times had he sung these words to her? Had he never meant them?

"I always meant it," He whispered, reading her mind. "Til the end of time."

"Scott, don't..." She choked out. "Let's enjoy this...Let's just do what we do best, let's skate."

They skated for hours, their legs burning as they slipped between familiar moves and simple strides. The music skipped from "Come What May" to "Mahler" to "Prince" to "Latch" to "Long Time Running," his playlist perfectly curated to recall all of their moments on the ice. It was bittersweet, but the sweet outweighed the bitter as "Latch" came on for a second time. "Let's do it," He husked out, running through some of the old choreography. As they ended, he fell into her arms, reveling in the feeling of her hands in his hair.

She held him to her chest, feeling the quiver in his body as he buried his face into her chest. It took a moment before she realized he was crying. "Latch" had always been hard for him, but now he was in her arms, sobbing against her chest.

"Scott, no...what is it?"

"I'm sorry." He choked out, pulling back from her embrace. "I'm a fucking mess."

She stood up, reaching for his hand as they stroked towards the boards, slipping from the ice and onto a nearby bench. "Talk, Moir."

"I can't, Tess. I've fucked everything up so badly, I don't know how to get it back. Look at me, Tess, I'm a loser. I lost my best friend, I have a girlfriend that I fight with whenever we're not drunk, I haven't spoken to my family in weeks. I'm so out of shape. Skating is the one thing I'm good at and I'm not even good at that right now."

"Scott, I'm here. The ice is always here. You can get back in shape in no time."

As much as she hated to admit it, she'd always be there for him.

This was like post-Sochi all over again. He swore this wouldn't happen, but here they were.

"Are you with Andrew?"

"Scott, no..." She trailed off, wondering if he had heard the rumors. Clearly, he had. It wasn't what he thought.

"Never?" He lifted his eyes to hers. "People have texted me about it, ya know?"

She looked down at her hands, mind drifting to that one bad decision she made in New York City. She was still nursing her broken hurt, drinking too much and pushing thoughts of Scott away. When they were in New York, she had invited him out to meet up with her and the girls, hoping he'd hit it off with Nastia or Kelsey. They had gotten closer since Scott had broken her heart, and he was always offering a shoulder to cry on, but that night (the night Kelly followed him on Instagram), she had gone too far.

She remembered cringing when he took off his shirt, revealing his Olympic tattoo. He didn't even have a medal, but he had gotten an Olympic tattoo.

She remembered thinking about Scott when he tried to go down on her, missing the way Scott used his tongue and his fingers.

She couldn't even bring herself to return the favor. She had wanted to until she dropped to her knees, and found herself wishing for Scott. 

She remembered thinking that sex with Andrew was like watching him skate. He was technically proficient enough, but he lacked passion. He knew the basic moves, but nothing was deep or seamless. She thought about Scott, and she wondered if she was ruined for any other man as she stared at Andrew's ugly-ass tattoo as he drove into her, never venturing away from missionary. She zoned out until he finished, pretending to do the same before rolling over and pretending to sleep.

The morning after had been awkward and terrible, and she asked him not to talk about it, but obviously he told someone who had told someone who had told someone, and now the entire Internet believed she was involved in a torrid affair with Andrew Poje. She had hoped it hadn't made its way to Scott, but of course it did. She wasn't ready for a relationship with Andrew, or anyone else.

She was still in love with the man sitting next to her.

"Scott, you have a girlfriend..." She trailed off, eyes looking everywhere but his. "I was drunk, it happened once... I hated it."

"Okay," He sighed, looking down at his feet. "I mean, obviously you can sleep with anyone you want, I was just surprised you'd go for Poje."

"That makes two of us," She laughed softly, watching as he reached for a bag and pulled out a bottle of champagne, attempting to change the subject. The last thing he wanted to imagine was Tessa, naked and writhing beneath Andrew. "We need to change the subject, and...it's only fitting."

"We shouldn't." She sighed, lifting her eyes to his. It had been just over two months since they had drank too much and ended up in bed in Vancouver. "We make bad decisions when we drink."

"Speak for yourself, Virtch." He chuckled, popping the cork and pouring the bubbly liquid into two plastic flutes. "I'm not the one who slept with Andrew Poje."

"Oh, don't even get me started on the people you've slept with!" She squealed, shoving him playfully. 

"Only one matters," He smiled wistfully.

"Same," She admitted softly, sadness dripping from her voice. "So this is an awkward segue, but everyone thinks we hate each other...Can we take a selfie for Instagram?"

"Of course," He smiled, sliding closer and wrapping an arm around her. She held up their champagne glasses while he leaned his head against hers, snapping the photo. She knew people would agonize over every detail. They'd wonder if Scott had been crying. They'd speculate if they were still friends. They'd be happy they were spending time together. "I could never hate you." He whispered as she tapped away at her phone.

"Cheers to special days and 21 years." She captioned the photo, posting it to Instagram before settling her phone on the bench next to her.

"Today sucks." He deadpanned, leaning his head against his shoulder. "My legs hurt, I'm fat and out of shape, and I'm still in love with you."

"I love you too." She sighed, a rare moment of honesty passing between them.

It would be so easy for her to turn her head and press her lips to his. It would be so easy for them to get drunk and slip into an abandoned closet to make each other feel better. They could go back to her house and climb into bed and hide from the rest of the world until he flies off again. In fact, it's all she wants to do. But she knows it won't fix anything. It'll just make things hurt worse tomorrow when he's back on a plane to Florida to a woman that isn't her.

"You think we'll ever get it right?" She asked, fingers instinctively drifting through his hair as she brushed her lips against his forehead.

"I don't know T, I sure hope so." He whispered, lifting his head ever-so-slightly to press his lips against her shoulder.

"Me too, Scott. Me too."


End file.
